


Monikeric

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet [7]
Category: Castle Rock (TV), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Drama, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17895830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. What began as street level crime has gone up. Fast.





	Monikeric

**Author's Note:**

> Getting faster and looser with the actual case. Because we can. Following procedure beat by beat is so dull.
> 
> And our Nines gets his own name. <3  
> Little homage to the CR fic _Behind Steel Bars_.
> 
> Bonus pride goeth to the one who can name Javier Sindino’s faceclaim. There is one big hint/steal seeded in here.

Nines was, among other things, a naïve fool. Picking a name for himself (from a _bible_ , of all things) was deviant enough without affecting any changes to his appearance. But by the next morning, it was revealed the RK900 had done just that.

It was a subtle enough change, on one hand. On the other, taking on a raven-black shade of hair and wan, freckle-free skin made him look akin to a goth stereotype. Or some 2030s remake of Edward Cullen.

(Now there was a franchise that could stay dead, according to popular wisdom.)

Blinking almost bemusedly, looking at his three RK800 counterparts, the white-jacketed android glanced down at his own hands. LED spinning, the dermal pigment darkened another shade, one that was just on the edge of olive, compared to his lookalike’s fair complexion.

“Is this… better?”

“It's… different,” Nick offered after a moment, not looking sure of the changes himself. “But better if you like it.”

Why he was even running the idea by them at all - Connor didn’t see the value. The RK900’s choice in name was a delicate enough matter, never mind asking his ‘predecessor’ if he approved of a few cosmetic changes to boot. Taking time out of their morning duties to preen, Dennis and Nicholas just happened to be in attendance.

Said redheaded android looked torn between amused and skeptical. “If different is what you were aiming for, N, congratulations. You got it.”

N alone was more fitting a name, even if it was only a letter.

“Where did you even… get the idea, for this? Just decided it?” Nick asked. It was a seemingly random, sudden change, to him apparently.

For his part, Nines almost managed to look shy. He didn’t wring his hands, but his fingers did betray a nervous twitch. “No. I only… the three of you look so distinct from each other. And despite the faults, you seem to work well together. When the situation calls for it.”

The hasty amendment was no doubt in response to the dubious frown Connor put on. His cross expression was probably the factor making his would-be successor so unnerved. And he would be lying if he said it wasn’t giving him some kind of satisfaction, deep down.

Taking a moment to process the argument, Dennis rolled his eyes. “It takes a little more than a few cosmetic tweaks.”

“But it's a start,” Nick added, giving him an encouraging smile, even if he was the only one to do so. “And if you like it, that's what matters.”

“Have you looked yourself over in a mirror yet?” Deadpan as Connor said it, the question was valid on its face. How much of himself had Nines actually seen, as opposed to looking at his fraternal twin?

Fingers twitching again, the prototype blinked, frowning thoughtfully. “No, it… didn’t occur to me.”

_Most advanced android ever, my ped component._ Mindful to keep said thought on their private frequency, Connor glanced back at his partners. _And yes, Nick, I know - that’s not nice._

_He's just trying to be his own person._ Predictable as a sunrise, Nick defended Nines, shaking his head at the sarcastic words from Connor. _Not be a copy. That's all, no need to be mean to him._

_All I did was suggest he try a mirror. Is that inherently aggressive?_

_More like passive-aggressive._ Dennis remarked, even as Nines - cognizant of the new wireless transmission between them, but declining to hack into it - shuffled a half step back on his given perch, eyes lowered. _But even then, that competition theory of yours is wearing thin in spots._

Was it? If anything, this reinforced the idea CyberLife was (unspokenly) pitting them against each other. Were they faced with doppelgängers of themselves, would either of his partners not feel half as defensive?

They didn’t grasp how fortunate they were, to not have to.

“Why don't you look, then?” Nick suggested out loud to Nines, glancing down in the direction of the bathrooms. “See what it looks like, if you like it or not. If not, you can always change it again.”

Wings bristling, Nines only shook his head. “Perhaps later.”

He almost managed to sound dispirited.

——-

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think they lost our paperwork somewhere.” Standing posed before the cell door, arms crossed, wings pulled in, Joey’s first given mood of the day turned out to be resentfulness. “Wouldn’t you say, Charlie?”

Slumped on the bench, Charlie gave a sigh, before thinking of an actual answer. His own mood had turned to boredom, eyes tracking Joey. It wasn't as if Nines, or even Connor, had come back to check on them yet. His own wings, fully preened by Nines the night before, were half crossed over himself with nothing else to do. “That, or this is our punishment. Let cabin fever set in, ‘til we're ready to sign ourselves away for scrap metal.”

“Aw. Where’s the fun in that?” The restlessness picked up again. Pacing from the closed door, to the opposite wall, and back, Joey let a fingertip trace along the seam at the top of the glass. “They can get so many other better uses out of us. That redheaded one, he’s kinda cute when he’s mad.”

“Mute it, Joey.” Leaning against the wall beside the bench, Trev only scoffed at the pseudo-whimsical tone. “It’s that kind of crazy talk which’ll get us locked up even longer.”

“Plus, he was already flirting with the receptionist when I came in. Better luck next time.” Rolling his eyes up at Joey, knowing full-well he didn’t have a serious rivet in him on subjects like romance, Charlie covered his face with one of his wings for a moment with a sigh. “But, yeah, I agree with Trev.”

Propping a shoulder into the corner beside the door, Joey only affected a mock pout. “Then in that case, who buffed your feathers up to such a pretty shine, there, Char? Because I know it wasn’t either of us.”

“Uh…” It wasn't like he was gonna lie to either of them, but there was also a reason that Nines had decided to talk to him when they were both asleep, right? They didn't trust him at all. Their reaction probably wouldn't be positive, at least. “Nines did, last night. He asked, and it's sorta like - he's all on his own. So I let him.”

At that, Trev raised an eyebrow, exchanging a silent glance with Joey before inevitably saying what they were both thinking: “And he didn’t ask anything in return? Just the pleasure of your company?”

It shouldn’t have been any big surprise. Their kind were communal by nature. No matter how high-end an RK900 supposedly was, it didn’t seem to alleviate a need to socialize. Connor had his partners, and seemed perfectly adjusted to his surroundings as a result.

His lookalike seemed almost aimless, in comparison. When he didn’t have anything to analyze or investigate, what did Nines have?

“He asked me, like, three questions about the warehouse and stuff before, but other than that, nothing.” Charlie sat up with a shrug. There really wasn't anything else to it, it seemed, just Nines being aimless as he was for the time being. “I think he feels guilty about everything, and sorta… he looks lonely.”

“Lonely. And supposedly right where he’s meant to be, right out of the box.” Managing to sound equal parts pitting and disbelieving, Joey rolled his eyes. “No wonder humans don’t know what to do with us.”

——-

Hank Anderson, in comparison, was far more receptive to the changes Nines had undertaken. Right down to the choice in name. As potentially disastrous it could have been, the man’s reaction was thankfully placid.

“Noah. …Yeah, that’s a fit.” Leaned back in his office chair, the police lieutenant looked their newest Interceptor up and down. “You did your homework, right? Know who that was?”

“The last of the pre-flood Patriarchs.” Keeping his answer limited to one sentence, Nines’ voice stayed level, as did his eyes. There was no more sign of the bashfulness of before. No finger twitching or frowning.

But he seemingly needed to hear someone validate his choice in name, out loud. And what better person than the Interceptors’ supervisor?

Seated at the neighboring desk, Dennis pretended not to overhear so obviously. His hands never stopped typing.

So long as it didn’t mean Detroit was to become the epicenter of a biblical-scale deluge, they could live with this.

Giving him one more once-over, Hank nodded. “Good on you, then. And your other little changes - startin’ to look like your own man, huh?”

Because that was one way to earn a positive response from Anderson: to not act like such a robot at every given turn. It was why Nick enjoyed such an easy rapport with him, and Connor did not, save a few exceptional occasions. Figuring out these working dynamics for himself, it made perfect sense why Nines would try and emulate the former and not the latter.

That said, Noah didn’t smile in appeasement. He tilted his head, eyes unblinking. To be called a man to his face seemed to further intrigue him.

“He still has to work on the be-less-creepy routine, Lieutenant,” Dennis remarked, albeit without many real malice. He may be the sardonic sort, but he didn’t feel the same spite Connor. “But you’re right - it’s a start.”

“Eh, lots of you can work on your creep factor,” Hank pointed out, chair spinning slightly to be turned more in between the two androids he was talking to. “How many times did Chris have to tell you to not just stand there while you ‘worked’?”

He could have easily repressed an embarrassed flush. Sparing the newly-designated Noah a look, Dennis went for a weak smirk. “Seven times, to be exact. Over five days.”

Okay, maybe it was closer to three, in reality. But exaggerating the story felt like fair recompense for the cold shoulder treatment Noah had been enduring from the station at large.

“Hear that, Noah? Even they took their time. Just gotta get into what feels natural for you.” Compared to how he had first reacted to Noah, Hank had calmed considerably to the new android’s presence.

“And if I can make a suggestion, lose the collar.” Dennis’ smirk only broadened at the uncomprehending frown his words received. “Unbutton it, fold it down, at least. It makes you look like a smokestack.”

Hank nodded along to the advice. “Good one, yeah. Listen to him, Noah, you'll look a bit more professional. …And not so ridiculous.”

Glancing down (as much as the stranglehold-like collar let him), the prototype slowly raised both hands, seemingly intent on doing just that.

“I don’t care if he’s busy. Make way. We’ll be out of your hair the quicker you let us through. Yes, thank you.”

The smirk vanished. Dennis stopped typing, looking up. The unlikely group of business-suited humans barging in on the opposite side of the bullpen demanded everyone’s collective attention. Those patrol androids standing at ease and on guard suddenly snapped to awareness.

Facial recognition software booting up, Dennis identified the speaker without needing an introduction.

“Aw, fuck…” Hank muttered under his breath, before sitting up further in his chair, back straight against it.

Head pivoting around first, the rest of Noah’s frame belatedly turned to reorient, then quickly back out of the way as the businessmen filed by, zeroing in on Captain Fowler’s office.

Most bizarre (to Dennis) was the dove-winged android secretary trailing after them. She looked almost harried with the apparent intrusion, but being of such short and slight stature, she didn’t make for a very imposing security measure.

Spotting the oncoming trouble, Jeffrey Fowler looked up at hearing the knock on his door. Phone cradled in his shoulder, he waved the apparently-corporate visitors inside.

Without warning, Javier Sindino turned around, staring down at Emilia with an unreadable expression. His slate gray eyes narrowed even more than they already were, taking in the unimposing android, before speaking, in a clipped, sharp accent. “I won't be requiring you in here. You can return to your post, now.”

She stopped short of following them up the steps. Without a flinch, she retorted in her own slightly-arched tone: “On the contrary, sir, Captain Fowler will require a notarized record of this meeting. I’ve been instructed to attend as a witness.”

_Explains how they even got by the front desk. It’s not just anyone the patrol androids don’t pounce on._

Slightly turning to exchange a look with the man next to him, holding the door, Javier seemed to concede to the idea with a slight head shake. “Very well, then. On we go.”

Eyes tracking each face, even as he sat frozen at the desk, Dennis waited until the glass door had closed behind them before hazarding a comment. Prior to that, it hadn’t felt particularly safe to speak. One scan of Sindino’s angled face seemed to cause his processors to lag.

If Nines standing around staring without blinking was spooky, Javier was just plain scary.

“Lieutenant, that man is… can he do that?”

“That and more, kid.” With no humor in his tone, Hank slumped back down in his seat, eyes not leaving the glass office walls. Inside, it was apparent that Sindino was someone very important, by the way he casually interrupted whatever conversation Fowler was already having. The police captain deigned to put his phone down. “Be glad he didn't stop by here, first.”

More than a little befuddled, Dennis blinked.

It didn’t make sense. This was the owner of an apparently-decrepit Delray property being used as a black market spare parts cache? The suit he was wearing had to have cost at least ten grand, not to mention the lawyers he had in tow. Their defense firm was among the top three in the Midwest.

Tabling the details, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t correlate just _who_ it was the DPD was trying to contact.”

“I did,” Noah admitted, back to being stoic as a windless lake. “But I assumed you also had it correct.”

“Worst _fuckin_ ’ place those idiots could've broken into,” Hank grumbled, wiping his face with one hand. Clearly, the man made him as nervous as Dennis and Noah, maybe more, from whatever else he knew about him. “Had to be his warehouse. Course it did.”

“His warehouse?” Dennis almost coughed up the words. Another quick plunge into the internet revealed the full extent as to why the station had ground to a halt at the sight of him. “Of _thousands_. At a glance, Lieutenant… Sindino owns about two thirds of the major metropolitan realty trade in Detroit, Milwaukee, and Chicago.”

Suffice to say, the man probably had more power in one hand than the governors of ten states.

“Shit. I knew he owned a lot, but that's fuckin’ ridiculous. Still - like we're gonna open a case against _him._ ” Giving a hiss, Hank's hands balled up into fists as he crossed them, averting his eyes from the office where the man in question was. “Hopefully he can just forget about this without seein’ those bumbling fools. I don't trust that red-haired one to not open his mouth.”

At that, Noah’s eyes went a touch wider before settling back into their typical relaxed stare.

Watching him, Dennis didn’t miss it. But at the same time, he wasn’t about to ask what it was about, privately or otherwise. Not with everyone so suddenly dithering on pins and needles. And that nervous energy would only intensify, the more they spoke about it.

And yet, just the incongruity of it all - what was the relation?

“He did… apparently go out of his way to answer this trespass charge in person, though. Someone of his standing, it amounts to less than a penny’s worth of damages.”

“Aw, shit. He - they better be on their _best_ behavior. Doesn't really matter by now, I'm sure he's made up his mind…” Trailing off, Hank's fists uncurled, fingers nervously tapping his arms as he nodded to himself. “They really opened up a can of fucking worms. Javier Sindino himself, coming down here. This is fan-fuckin’-tastic.”

Inside the office, things didn’t look any more pleasant. And any pleasantries appeared forced. Dennis watched as Javier and his counsel took the two seats, leaving the other lawyer to stand and whip out a tablet. Together, the three of them began explaining, occasionally gesturing at the graphical readouts and reports. Fowler leaned over his desk onto his elbows and did his best to keep up.

Standing at attention by the back wall, hands folded before her skirt, Emilia bore witness. Only her eyes went back and forth, recording as she had been ordered to do.

Already, Dennis loathed to think what the short, censored version of this meeting would entail. There would be a memo circulated, minimum.

Hopefully without any pictures attached.

——-

For perhaps the first time since being brought online, Connor didn’t exactly want to do his job. Not that he was in any imminent danger, no. But the briefing Anderson had spared him had been painfully blunt and nonnegotiable. He wasn’t given even five minutes since returning from the warehouse before Hank grabbed him by the elbow, steering him toward interrogation.

“Trust me, this is one person you don’t keep waitin’. Ever. Get in there now, we’ll talk later.”

Faced with those orders, he placed a palm on the pad automatically.

Only after the door opened and he obediently stepped inside did he pause to second think Anderson’s instruction. One glance at the man already seated at the table revealed just what he dually both anticipated and dreaded.

He had just spent a few hours combing the suspect’s warehouse, helping CSI account for the grisly android parts found littered there.

It was very unlikely to find Javier Sindino’s actual fingerprints anywhere near Delray.

Sindino looked over to him as the door opened, the only thing keeping his face from looking blank being the miniscule upturn of his lips. Other than that, there was nothing, no spark in his eyes, as the humans might call it. Only the expectant look, withered hands resting folded on the table. “You must be Connor. Please, do take a seat.”

As if he was going to be the interrogator, this time around.

Nothing in his voice suggested it was an instruction that, if Connor ignored it, there would be consequences.

But in the interests of moving this investigation forward, he wasn’t going to be picky. If Sindino wanted to talk of his own accord, and not invoke a right to remain silent, why not accept that for what it was?

…Did the fact he was about to be ‘questioned’ by an android even bother him?

Carefully, Connor pulled the remaining chair out, sliding sideways to sit down. He didn’t take his eyes off the man’s face. And with introductions half completed, he may as well prompt in return: “Mr. Sindino, I assume?”

“You assume correct.” With little else to say, the man returned to studying his face as well, taking his whole appearance in slowly. After a moment, Sindino spoke again, any semblance of a smile gone as he raised one eyebrow. “Now, tell me what you've discovered.”

Well, that was certainly inverted. Most times, it wasn’t on the police to tell a suspect what they wanted to know. But in his case, being an android, expected to obey to a reasonable extent made that hard to sidestep.

Connor still affected a bemused blink, sitting up straight in his chair, hands in his lap. “Meaning… the warehouse, by the bridge, sir?”

“That one, precisely. How much progress have you made? I assume that's where you've just been.”

Connor blinked again. Oh, right. He had neglected to sort himself out after landing. His windswept hair and feathers were probably left him looking altogether silly.

“Yes, we were - the case is still being assembled, sir. What’s been uncovered there isn’t anything we can just overlook.”

“Of course it isn't. I want this investigated just as much as I'm sure you wish, Connor. As much as you can wish, that is.” Sindino raised an eyebrow at him again, as if realizing he needed to explain himself more to the android. “Whoever is claiming this is my warehouse, they can not get away with such a lie.”

“Do you have any… inklings who would do such a thing?” Connor resisted the urge to fidget. The look currently being aimed at him brought it on to an uncomfortable degree. “That is, I know you’re someone of many, many business dealings and it’s probably been a great expense for you to take time out of your schedule to address this in person. But… is it totally unfeasible? That someone would have altered that record, somehow?”

“It's not preposterous, no. Why, it slipped under the radar for so long, I'm certain they were sure it would never be found out, and if it was…” Trailing off for a moment, whatever thought occurred to him seemed to get an an actual reaction from him - just a quick, small smirk, before it disappeared. “Well, here we are, aren't we? I have no one in particular in mind though, unfortunately.”

Fantastic. In that regard, this lead was about as useless as all the others. Unless he disclosed more of what he found, Connor may as well have been talking to a well-spoken brick wall.

“Then… what would you say if I told you one of the floors was stockpiled with sloppily-detached biocomponents, mostly arms and legs?”

There was no change in Javier's expression at the knowledge, not even another eyebrow raise. Just his cool, impassive eyes, still staring back at Connor as calmly as he had first deigned to. “That would be surprising, but not shocking. I'm sure they find many uses for these abandoned warehouses littering Detroit. One more such as that is to be but expected.”

At that Connor did frown, LED strobing in time with his roiling thoughts. He felt strangely inanimate compared to his questioner/suspect.

“I’m aware of your… professional stance on employing androids over human beings, sir. But should I take that to mean there’s no chance a floor full of parts isn’t somehow untowardly linked to any given arm of your business? Or any third party companies you contract?”

Maybe it wasn’t worth mentioning he knew if the man’s apparent disdain for his kind. But he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a potential factor, however insignificant. Javier Sindino was well above any petty black market scams.

So why did being fingered as owning this warehouse-turned-cache bother him enough to rate an in-person visit?

“I don't mean to sound harsh when I say this, but I simply do not care enough, either way, about androids to be involved in any schemes against them, no matter how business-like they may appear. I would not break the law for something as minor as this, Connor.” Even if he didn't outwardly come out and say it, his carefully chosen words, and his in-command tone, made it perfectly clear just what Javier meant. Androids were nothing to him, and he couldn't be bothered to help or harm any of them.

He had bigger concerns.

“You're wondering why I am here, if I say it doesn't bother me, no?” Tilting his head to one side, Sindino had continued with his speaking, not even giving Connor a chance to get a spare word in. Belatedly the android shut his mouth. “You see, if I let one person believe they get away with sullying my name like this, than who is to say more won't follow suit? It's best to set a firm example. I can assure you, this isn't the first instance of this happening. It's just the first time they were discovered.”

“Then… if that’s all, sir, I can only tell you we will be looking into the matter. It may yet be tied to more white-collar crime than anything at a street level.”

Connor paused, brow knitting.

If that was indeed all Sindino was here for, to say flagrant misuse of his name wouldn’t be tolerated, couldn’t he have told as much to Lieutenant Anderson and have been satisfied? Why wait for an android assigned to the case?

“Unless you think there’s another avenue we should investigate? A place, if not a person?”

“Perhaps not for this case, but I have other concerns within my life, yes.” Steering the subject toward what it appeared he was really there for, Javier gave another quick quirk of his lips, before settling back into his standard, blank expression. “I have an internal matter that requires assistance from within the department. I suppose it was merely luck, that there was another incident I had to come here for.”

Luck? A man of his means and scope, and he attributed their meeting to luck.

Intrigued, but not immediately sold on the legitimacy of said claim, Connor leaned back in his seat - just a touch. More physical distance between him and Javier seemed advisable.

“How does that involve me, specially? I mean no disrespect, but any complaint you have may just be better suited to a - human detective’s intuition.”

Because, technically, he didn’t have intuition. He had his programs, and not all of them were so versatile as to fit every criminal case imaginable.

“I did not ask for a human detective. I asked for an android.” Javier leaned forward at that, closing (and overtaking) any meager gap Connor had developed by leaning back himself. “So here you are. I believe this matter would be better handled by androids than humans. Especially given the nature of it.”

Better left to humans than androids. Something requiring objective impartiality.

That ticked one box on the metaphorical checklist off.

“Something to do with money?” Connor didn’t mince words, his tone going a little more arch. Something to compensate for the uneasy twinge running up his spinal cables. “I’m sorry, I’m not… that kind of calculator.”

“It's well within your functions. If it was not, they would not send you, and I would not accept it.” Javier veered into a more final tone of voice, one obviously used to end any protests or questions someone had for him. “Something to do with money, though, yes. I can't trust a human to have the same… detached nature toward this, that an android would have.”

Not only that, but perhaps it was a time-sensitive issue? One he couldn’t wait for the paperwork to come through to accomplish discovery via normal means?

“Are you asking me to…” Trailing off, Connor caught a glimpse of their reflections in the one way glass. He thought again of how smart it would be to finish that thought. Not on camera. To that end, he practically _was_ a camera.

Maybe Javier Sindino was about to ask him to break a law. Maybe not. If it wasn’t a clean break, maybe it was more of a bend.

All the uncertainty was making his stomach churn. It wasn’t supposed to be able to. But just as a human couldn’t quiet the growls of a hungry gut, Connor could no more help caving to the piqued curiosity.

He was made to be inquisitive, after all. He would worry about the conflicts later.

“How can I be of assistance?”

That managed to get what could dubiously be considered an actual grin out of Sindino - and with all other of his expressions, it only flashed quickly over his face, before the neutral mask settled over him again. Here one second, gone the next. “I need someone for a break in. Of my own business, mind you, if your programming won't allow you to break a law.”

No law on the books, no.

But in the private sector, who kept said books?

Another cable twinge repressed, Connor squinted. There was one basic line to draw in the sand before he said anything else. “Nothing that will endanger human life, no, sir.”

“Nothing like that, no. This is more covert than anything that would endanger anyone. I need information, not blood.”

As if it was _this_ time he wanted information - that there could be a situation in the future where he wanted the vice versa.

Yes, there was always that possibility. No matter his makeup, however android-like his mannerisms, Sindino was human.

Unsettling was an understatement. Neatly boxing up the feeling and setting it aside, Connor blinked a third time. “What are you looking for?”

“Anything that will point me in the direction of who has been skimming from the sidelines. Documents, records, possible witnesses or accomplices…” Trailing off with that final suggestion, Javier shrugged slightly before continuing. “It's the same reason why I came down here today, Connor. No matter how small the infraction is, it must be dealt with, swiftly. Others cannot get the impression I will go lightly on whoever did this.”

Or else, what, he would sic the nearest available RK800 on their office, next they were out?

Safely out of sight, Connor kneaded at the leg of his pants, something to offset the lingering nervousness. “And you’re not thinking I simply take the elevator to reach the place in question, are you?”

The puffed-out wings currently pinned between his back and the chair twitched, only to fold in even tighter. They were practically the main staple as to why Sindino wouldn’t simply hire a conventional PI. He wanted someone who could get in and out, fast, could override systems with but a thought, and not leave fingerprints.

Perks of rubbing elbows with city hall.

“If I wanted that, I wouldn't ask for an android with your capabilities, would I? No need to be so nervous, Connor. You did not strike me as one who would be programmed to do so.” Giving a slight shake of his head, as if it disappointed him, Sindino narrowed his eyes before speaking again. “Do you know what an Ortolan Bunting is?”

The way he asked the question made it clear that he didn't care whether Connor knew or didn't. It was merely his way of segueing into his next point.

Nevertheless, any question asked of him, Connor was borderline compulsive with his need to answer: “A… finch-like bird, from Europe.” Tempting as it was to elaborate, he could tell Sindino would be no more impressed with a long winded response than a succinct one.

“They're a rare delicacy, as well. How cruel of humans, to do such a thing to an endangered species, no? But we do so, anyways. I'll spare you the more upsetting details, but they're usually drowned in a sauce, then roasted, before being swallowed whole, bones and all. Customarily, the human covers their face - hiding ourselves from God, they say. But Connor…” Pausing again, with a tilt of his head to one side, Javier's expression didn't change. “I don't hide myself from God, in that respect. Now, for you. Do you see yourself more like the Bunting or the human?”

Again, technically, he was a little of both. Whoever thought it was a good idea to stick wings on the backs of androids, render their frames light enough to sustain flight, were _they_ more akin to human or the God that (according to some) made them?

Connor wasn’t one for hiding. But he wasn’t about to let the same powers that made him cook and eat him alive - metaphorically, at least. He lived his given life per their leisure. As long as he was useful, he had a purpose. And to have a purpose was life enough for most androids.

Conservative-minded ones. Not like Dennis or Nicholas.

Was a bit of psychoanalysis by this apparent-businessman really a necessary prerequisite for the task at hand?

“My design was based on that of human likeness, Mr. Sindino, in manner and appearance. The avian characteristics are only… creative embellishment.”

“That doesn't really answer the question, does it? …No matter. I can answer it for us.” Leaning back again, Javier studied him for a moment, before letting out a tiny scoff. “Creative embellishment. You say that, yet every android has their wings _picked_ for a purpose. You - you're a Bunting who believes you can trick others into thinking you're human, no? Even yourself. Perhaps you've been covering your own face for quite too long, Connor.”

That almost needled his temper in all the wrong ways. Averting his eyes at long last, unable to bear the intense stare along with those unnerving words, Connor frowned.

He wasn’t some hapless passerine to be preyed on. His insecurities were of no significance here. Sindino just wanted to see if he could make an android squirm, besides offer him such a shady job that (were it anyone else) would be tantamount to corporate espionage.

Eyes narrowing, wings hiking up of their own accord, he looked back. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, sir. We’ve only just met. You can’t know what I am with one look.”

“I have taken far more than one look, Connor.” Rather than look upset, or taken aback at the words, Sindino almost seemed amused with him. “They have all reinforced the first. I understand it may seem as if I'm just trying to get a rise out of you, but really - I just want you to know who you are, so we can come to an understanding on this job you're undertaking for me.”

Oh, he knew what he was, and Sindino’s understanding only needed to go so far as to how well he accomplished the given mission. This was business, not personal. And he didn’t need to make it so to keep his newfound infiltrator under his thumb.

Connor wasn’t so fickle as to let some murky concept like moral ambiguity sway him.

“I know what I am.”

_And I don’t need you to tell me._

“Ah, of course you do. You must forgive me, Connor, sometimes I get far ahead of myself when I am speaking.” Satisfied with whatever reaction he had gotten, Javier seemed to return to the business-like professional he was beforehand. “Is there any more information you require? Or have I made myself perfectly clear?”

Air caught in his artificial lungs that had stayed there a minute too long, Connor breathed out - softly enough, it couldn’t be called a sigh.

“An address would be nice.”

——-

Nick didn't mean to keep ripping the origami paper. Somehow, whenever he was in the beginning stages of the crane, he always managed to do just that - was he pulling too hard? Was he not being gentle enough with the paper?

Somehow, through much trial and error, Dennis had learned to make them. Therefore, it should be within his own capabilities as well, right? Even just one, no matter how lopsided or disproportionate it would turn out. It wasn't as if anyone was offering to make one for him, right?

Giving a sigh of disappointment at the scraps laying next to him on the perch, Nick had half a mind to push them off of it, letting them fall onto the currently-empty desk across from Hank’s, or the ground. But that would constitute littering in the station. Police didn’t care for that.

He reached for the next piece of paper on the stack, eyes roaming from it to take in the scene that was down below him again.

No one had joined him at the perches for a bit, which was - fine. Nick wanted someone to, but he couldn't force anyone to spend time with him. There was an actual case unfolding down below, one that required the attention of anyone who was willing to do so. He wasn’t about to disrupt all that tense, disquieting energy.

Then a shout went up from Captain Fowler’s office - glass walls doing only so much to contain the outrage.

“You can’t be serious!”

Giving a start, the paper he was holding fluttered from his grip to the floor, the other hand automatically gripping the perch for support. It went unnoticed by the rest of the bullpen.

Was that - Gavin's voice? What was he so upset about?

Automatically the sensitivity of Nick’s audio processors dialed up.

“I put up with a lot, but I'm drawin’ the line here, Fowler!”

Unphased, the captain barked right back: “Not on this you don’t, Detective. Now shut up and listen, or slap your badge down right here. Because this isn’t negotiable, whether you like it or not.”

“You can't - aghhh!” Cutting himself off with a growl, it was obvious from the way his figure paced inside the glass office that Gavin was trying to contain himself. Paper forgotten, Nick crept closer to the edge of the perch, head peeking out to continue watching. “I'm not - _happy_ with this, let that be on record. No way am I bein’ partnered with a tin can.”

Jeffrey Fowler dropped back into his seat. Not as given to dramatics as any of the detectives he oversaw, the man’s body language said just enough. “It’s the order of the day, Reed, no one is exactly thrilled with their new assignments. But this is one that might actually be for the better, impossible as that may seem.”

“No _way_ this will end with anything good. Me, and the newest tin can CyberLife dumps on us? We'll both be dead before the week is out!”

At that, Nick blinked in confusion. Now there was something so melodramatic and unprofessional, only Reed could say it semi-seriously and get away with it.

Fowler didn’t let it remain unsaid for long: “Quit your bellyaching. If anything dies in the near future, it’ll be your career, Detective. You’re on thin enough ice, insubordination write-ups enough to shower with, I suggest you at least try and introduce yourselves before you go off, assuming this is the beginning of the end.”

“Argh - _fine._ Guess I can spend a couple minutes talkin’ to a brick wall, not like I don't do it enough nowadays.” With that, Gavin stormed out of Fowler's office without another word, arms crossing on the automatic as soon as he was outside.

The sharp _thunk_ of the door closing, and the bullpen resumed its usual rhythms before anyone stared too long.

With one exception.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, Bugeyes?”

Nick hurried himself back from the edge of the perch, wrapping his arms around his knees as he did so, huddling under his own wings. There was no use responding to him now, not when Reed was in such a bad mood.

“That’s what I thought.” Trudging over to his desk, Gavin snatched up the tablet lying there, dropping into his seat with relished disgust. Without looking up, he reached for the earpiece lying amongst the clutter, affixing it to his right ear.

If his official instructions were to go meet Noah, as soon as possible, he had clearly written them off for later.

“He’s no more pleased with this development than me.”

Nick gave another start at the sudden voice, directly beside him, grabbing at the perch _again,_ to try not and fall off. Since when was Noah up here? “I - I don't blame you. He's not anyone I would be happy to work with, either.”

With a bland, if not semi-apologetic look, Noah settled down to sit on the neighboring perch. Feet dangling, anchors off, he didn’t seem intent to leave just yet.

“You’ve known him longer. Any inklings as to why he’s… the way he is?”

“Why he hates androids?” Nick paraphrased, glancing down at Gavin, before returning his attention to Noah. “I'm not really… sure. Hank didn't like them before, but now, he seems a lot more okay with us. Maybe something happened with androids and Gavin, or maybe it's just the whole job thing.”

“It could be any of those scenarios,” Noah mused, but without any noticeable revulsion. The polar opposite of Reed’s lividness, his agitation showed itself in a snappy wing flick. “I suppose I’ll find out for myself, soon enough.”

“It'll be okay, Noah. If he does anything really awful, let Hank know. I'm sure he can sort it out.” What other reassurances could he give the other android? Not like they could exactly complain and be listened to, if a human was harassing them.

Either picking up on that, or the use of his new(est) name, the younger prototype cracked half a weak smile before letting it fade. “Sort it out… I haven’t even been given an official mandate as to why I’m here. Except that I’m - _to_ be here, until further notice. CyberLife doesn’t know what to do with me any more than the DPD does.”

Nick kept quiet for a moment, absorbing the information. It was obvious that Noah was struggling with just what exactly his place was in the new, strange world he found himself in. The humans weren’t telling him, and no android could because he was so one-of-a-kind. “Well… you've been really helpful, with the case so far and everything, like, you clearly know what you're doing. So you're in the right place, at least. Everything else will fit together, eventually. I'm glad you're here, and not somewhere else.”

“Glad? As opposed to accepting?” Noah’s eyes slitted, looking like two slivers of icy stone in the process. “What kind of rationale is that? I pulled a gun on you, first we met.”

“You were startled, and stuff. It wouldn't be my first reaction, but I can understand how it could be yours.” Nick shrugged at him. What else could he say? It was his rationale, however inelegant. “And you haven't done it since. So, yeah, I'm glad you're here. I think it's better for you than if you were someplace else.”

“You’re not incorrect.” Wings giving another twitch, Noah glanced down. Below them, Gavin Reed continued to type most furiously upon the tablet. “And assigning a human partner does afford me better focus. I only… I have doubts where I shouldn’t. It’s already distracting.”

“Doubts about Gavin? Yeah… you're not really wrong if you have those. Or… about other things? It's just gonna take some time, Noah, to find your place here. It's uncomfortable at first, I know.”

Skepticism was only natural. But the RK900 turned his outward instead of further in. There were clearly more than a few questions picking away at his coding, despite his laconic nature.

“Is it? And were you always so deviant, or just made that way?”

“I - I…” Nick trailed off, gaze going down to his own knees. It wasn't often that anyone referred to him as a deviant, but it wasn't unheard of, either. The word was as much a stigma as it was just generally down-putting. His wings gave an uneasy twitch behind him, half-wrapping around himself defensively. “I dunno. Been this way since I was online, but I dunno if I was made for it.”

“I wouldn’t see the sense in building an android who uses the words ‘I don’t know’ so repetitively, either.”

Nick let out a sigh at the words. At least unlike Connor at certain times, Noah didn't mean to hurt his feelings, or anything like that. He was just stating his opinion, or what seemed most logical to him. “I guess not. I don't have an explanation for that, sorry.”

Seeming to sense the line he was pressing on, Noah eased off. A few seconds later, he inadvertently pressed the sore spot again. “Case in point - for all you don’t know, maybe you weren’t made to know anything.”

Now that was just depressing. And made his attempts at origami seem all the more laughable.

“...Oh. Yeah, maybe.” Nick replied, half-hearted as it was. It was good to keep encouraging Noah to speak what he thought, no matter whether he liked the sound of it. “Guess that could seem true.”

“So… what _do_ you know?”

If not anything specific, just in general.

“Uhm…” Well, there was one subject he was extremely well versed in, even if it wasn't exactly what Noah was probably asking about. “I know a lot about koi.”

At that his companion actually blinked, frowning in confusion. It clearly did not compute with what he might have expected for an answer. “Say again?”

“Koi fish? They're kinda my favorite subject. I like to research stuff about them, and tell Hank and Dennis.” It wasn't the expected answer, but it was the truth.

By the utterly blank expression Noah favored him with, LED spinning yellow, it was clear he had effectively managed to stump the newer, supposedly-superior model into effective silence.

“...What?”

A door beeping as it unlocked/opened interrupted before either of them could go on.

“I would thank you for your time, Connor, but since we'll be seeing each other soon, I'll leave our meeting at this.”

At the accented words, Nick looked down toward the new voice addressing one of his partners. Someone that Connor would be meeting with, again? Who would that even be?

For the moment, said android didn’t instantly look up and favor them with an explanation. His attention was on the gray-suited man with a ledger slung under one arm.

“I understand, sir.”

For a beat it appeared as if the human was going to offer his hand to Connor, but after a quiet moment, all he did was give the android another once over, and then a small, formal nod.

“By the way…” Before he continued any further, the man reached over without asking, brushing on Connor's shoulder for a second or two, before giving him another once over. “You had something on your shoulder, little feather down. I didn't want to interrupt our conversation with such a thing, but it was not very professional.”

Eyes tracking the man’s hand, Connor went as still as a photograph. Watching as the dislodged tuft bobbed away only to be pulled into a nearby ventilation grate, his expression darkened just the barest fraction. His loose hands went half-clasped.

“Yes… thank you.”

He spoke tightly. Having his appearance critiqued was apparently not the first nitpick he had endured from Javier Sindino.

“You're welcome.” Turning around without another word or look, Javier strode away, towards the two other suited men who seemed to be waiting for him near the entrance/exit of the precinct.

Fastidiously, waiting until the door had closed on that unpleasant exchange, Connor seemed to snap out of his tensed up trance. He made a few minute adjustments to his lapels, collar, and tie, then ran a hand through his windblown hair.

Doing so, he glanced up toward the perches - directly at his unintended audience.

Nick shuffled back from his bent over position again, trying to find his way out of his line of sight. No way Connor would be in a good mood after whatever that was.

Declining any urge to ask how much they had seen, Connor turned on his heel and strode off toward the restrooms.

Noah seemed to cough softly to clear the tense air left behind. And the offhanded suggestion he followed it up with was flawlessly deviant thing to say. But it did the trick.

“Maybe… I ought to loosen this collar after all. It is a bit too industrious-looking, for me.”

Looking back over at him, Nick gave him a smile, just a bit startled he brought it up in the first place. “Go ahead, then. Whatever feels right for you, Noah.”

Him.

As opposed to Connor.


End file.
